


Fic: Poppet

by gloria_scott



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dubious Consent, Harm to Animals, M/M, Magic, Non Consensual, Sacrifice, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-01
Updated: 2011-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-23 08:07:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloria_scott/pseuds/gloria_scott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft isn't above turning to the dark arts to get what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fic: Poppet

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for thegameison_sh Cycle 3 Challenge #4 - "Phantom Touch"

Gregory Lestrade was turning out to be quite a challenge. Not a puzzle to be solved - the man was as deep and as easily read as any crime noir graphic novel. No, Mycroft mused, more like a stolid rampart to be breached. He leaned back in his chair in his secure home office, unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, preparing to get to work.

His last incantation had not been without effect. There was a definite hitch in Lestrade's breathing and a flush to his cheeks when Mycroft next saw him and drew near. But the man was a force to be reckoned with; he seemed unwavering in his resolve to keep things purely professional. Mycroft could be intrigued by a challenge, but he had even less patience than his impetuous brother.

The gloves were now off. The good detective would pay for his bullheadedness.

It was nearly midnight. Mycroft spread a black cloth over the credenza next to the high-res monitor displaying his chosen CCTV stream - Lestrade's bedroom. Next, he set out and lit a couple of beeswax candles, creating an impromptu altar. The candles were soon joined by a small earthenware bowl and a simple, keen-edged knife.

He unlocked a desk drawer and drew out another object, placing it next to the bowl: an odd little homunculus made of burlap and straw. It was featureless and not so much dressed as pinned with ragged shards of cloth. Mycroft was ever the minimalist; it didn't have to look good so long as it worked.

It had been easy enough to procure the required items from his target's abode. The burlap doll's lumpy head was festooned with a sprig of grey hair retrieved from a brush. A scrap of shirt in need of laundering and heady with the DI's scent was pinned to its torso, and a bit of stiff, soiled flannel he'd used after his latest self-ministrations was affixed between its stumpy, sausage-like legs. Perhaps trickiest to get was the rust-colored tissue pinned to its heart that had recently staunched a shaving nick - thankfully tossed into the bin and not the toilet, as he was usually wont to do.

Passing a hand over the altar, Mycroft closed his eyes and muttered a brief incantation. He reached into his trouser pocket and withdrew a small envelope of dried herbs - his own special recipe - which he then sprinkled into the bowl. Another few words in Latin, and a caged dove gave its life without struggle. Mycroft slit its throat and watched dispassionately as the blood ran quickly into the bowl. He mixed the blood and herbs with a finger before drawing symbols of power upon his forehead, hands and chest.

Mycroft stared intently at the monitor now, focusing his mind and energy on Lestrade's sleeping form. He waved a hand over the doll as if brushing something away. Lestrade stirred in his sleep and cast the covers off with one, clumsy movement of his arm. Mycroft allowed himself a smile before setting his focus again. With one finger he began gently probing between the doll's legs. Lestrade shifted and let out a sighing moan. Mycroft's finger became more insistent, and Lestrade's hips lifted off the bed in response. His hands grasped at his boxers and pulled them down, exposing his hardened cock to Mycroft's greedy eyes.

Lestrade's shallow panting suggested an imminent resolution to the tension building in the man's every muscle.  
Much too soon for that.

Mycroft let up, pulling his finger abruptly away, and was delighted by Lestrade's pitiful howl of protest. After a few moments, he let his finger glide over the doll's torso, watching as Lestrade's hands traced the same patterns over his own skin, until he was writhing snake-like amongst the tangle of bedclothes, his cock straining and dripping with anticipation and need.

At last, Mycroft decided to show him some mercy. He licked the tip of his finger and buried it in between the doll's legs once more. Lestrade's back arched and his toes curled. Both hands gripped the sheets on either side of him, and it was only Mycroft's phantom touch that brought him to the edge and over.

Mycroft listened with pleasure as Lestrade's rasping breaths and shuddering moans slowly subsided. He turned his attention once more to the doll, leaning close and whispering in a conspiratorial way.

"That'll do, Inspector. Now, the next time I invite you for coffee, you would be wise to accept."


End file.
